


The Barebones of Being Family

by N7_Jam



Category: Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them (Movies), Fullmetal Alchemist - All Media Types, Fullmetal Alchemist: Brotherhood & Manga
Genre: Crossover, Don't underestimate the No-maj, Families of Choice, Family, Fix-It of Sorts, Fluff, Gen, HUGHES IS BEST DAD, Hurt/Comfort, Sneak Adoption, The Barebones kids deserved better
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-11-03
Updated: 2017-11-03
Packaged: 2019-01-29 03:25:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,101
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12622100
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/N7_Jam/pseuds/N7_Jam
Summary: Maes Hughes in the Fantastic Beasts verse, post-movie.   That man deserved better than what he got, and so did the Barebones kids.





	The Barebones of Being Family

**Author's Note:**

> Hughes has already lived in the FB verse for several years now. He initially woke up in Germany, but made his way to out of the country ASAP because of WWI backlash. He ended up in the U.S., learned English and now owns a modest restaurant where he serves customers using his wife’s recipes. He is aware that there are strange things in this world, but has not actively investigated or discovered the magical community.

“” = talking

‘’ = inner thoughts

_italics_ = different language

Disclaimer: Neither Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them nor FMA are mine.

* * *

 

A satisfied hum rumbled in Hughes’ chest as he stretched his arms up over his head to release the pressure in his back. A series of quiet pops and clicks articulated the complaints of his body. Maes grumpily acknowledged that in switching his profession from desk jockey to restaurant proprietor he’d exchanged the constant crick in his neck for a perpetually aching back and feet instead. Uncharacteristically stoic, the man ignored the remaining aches in his joints and mechanically began to go through the motions of closing up for the night before retiring to his apartment upstairs for a night of much deserved rest. Hughes’ spectacles glinted dully as he went about locking up.

If anyone had told Maes before that he’d end up working in the food industry, he would have laughed himself silly before punishing – er, giving the perpetrator a delightful lecture on the Hughes family and their antics. Maes had been a career military man. He’d had plans – he’d had _Roy_. And there was no force on earth that could have prompted Hughes to abandon Roy to the cesspit that was the Amestrian government.

But then Maes had stumbled across something he shouldn’t have (again) and paid the price for it. Left his best friend to struggle with his inner demons alone, left his beloved wife a widow and – god help him, but he’d left his little girl, his angel without a father. Not that he’d had the time to grieve over that in the beginning, waking up in a world in shambles from a _fucking world war_ and Maes seemingly a German without any kind of identification in a time where the aforementioned nationality was being made the scapegoat of the entire debacle.

But Maes had persevered. Calling upon an inner strength he hadn’t had to resort to since Ishval, the Amestrian had dug in his heels, rolled up his sleeves and made a new life for himself out of nothing. It had been hard – god, it had been _torture_ – but Hughes had managed it. Barely. Now he had a place of his own, a respectably successful business and…well, that was about it actually.

Some days it was all he could do to plaster a grin on his face and hide the yawning chasm of agony that threatened to swallow him whole every day he was still without his family.

Maes’ head snapped up and to the side at an unusually loud clatter that came from outside his backdoor. Light glinting off of his spectacles menacingly, Hughes went to investigate the disturbance with a disarmingly harmless grin on his face, hand subtlety palming one of his throwing knives. He’d long ago learned that crime was much more prevalent in New York than it had ever been in Central City. The Amestrian had yet to get into a confrontation his words (or failing that, his weapons) couldn’t get him out of. Maes calmly stepped out into the miserable winter air to face whatever had decided to make a commotion.

The sight of a small blond-haired child peering up at him from over the lip of his refuse bin ripped the breath from his lungs. Even so many years later, he couldn’t help but see his little Elicia in every grinning bronze-haired and light-eyed child that passed him on the street. And to imagine his child, _any child_ reduced to rummaging through the garbage – it ignited an indignant rage in him that seemed to fester in his gut with every new injustice he witnessed.

‘You can’t help everyone, Maes.’ The coldly analytical part of his mind reasoned.

‘Fuck off.’ Responded Maes’ fatherly instincts. He was bemused to note it sounded suspiciously like Roy. Then again, Roy always was a sucker for lost causes. Perhaps the voice was more apt than he realized.

“Well, hello there!” Maes flashed a blindingly cheerful grin at the waif who’d been slowly edging away from him from the moment he’d appeared. At his direct acknowledgement of her presence, she froze, ready to flee at the slightest provocation. God, but she looked so young and scared. “I’m Maes Hughes, the proprietor of this fine dining establishment! Come in, come in, you must be starving.” Moving too quickly for the girl to react, Maes shepherded her into his restaurant, flipping on more lights as he went to make the space appear less ominous. He made sure not to physically touch her after she flinched under his hand the first time he reached for her.

Eventually, he had the girl situated at the table nearest his cooking station so he could keep an eye on her while he whipped up something to eat and drink. Her small face was thin and pinched, hollow cheeks marking her as a victim of hunger.

Thrown off balance by Maes’ bewilderingly swift and genial actions the girl remained seated and stared at him with wide eyes. He was chagrined but unsurprised to note the substantial suspicion and fear lingering in her too old gaze. She wouldn’t have lasted as long as she clearly had on the streets without a cultivated wariness towards other people. Maes knew the only reason she was still here with him at all (a stranger, an unknown) was because he’d blindsided her with his calculatedly baffling manner.

Admittedly, it also might have had something to do with the mouthwatering aroma of Maes’ leftover soup now saturating the air as it slowly warmed up over the stove (Hughes once again thanked Gracia for sharing her divine cooking skills with him). The canny Amestrian could almost _see_ as the hunger slowly strangled the girl’s paranoid instincts. He cheered inwardly at the small victory and proceeded to distract the girl further with his infamous inane rambling. Maybe then he could actually get her to _talk back to him_.

“Smells good, doesn’t it?” Maes’ eyes crinkled as he once again graced the waif with his dazzling grin. He idly made sure to keep stirring the pot as he valiantly continued his one-sided conversation. “My beautiful wife, Gracia, she’s a fantastic cook you know! Sometimes she accused me of only marrying her for her cooking.” His eyes closed as he let out a belly laugh at the amusing recollection. “It was a joke, but she still wouldn’t share her recipes with me for _years_. They took their food seriously in Gracia’s family, oh yes.” Hughes nodded sagely, hazel eyes briefly flickering with grief before the emotion was ruthlessly shoved underneath his genial mask.

“Where’s your wife?”

Maes’ eyes immediately snapped up to the girl who flinched at his sudden movement. She met his stare unrepentantly for a moment before shifting her gaze to the side of his head and fiddling with her worn and ratty gloves.

Maes gave a gentle smile before he answered. Even now, Gracia helped him. “You can hear the accent in my voice, yes?” Hughes asked, allowing Amestrian to temporarily color his vowels and guttural consonants. He’d had to work harder than he cared to admit to erase most of the ‘German’ accent from his words when he’d first learned English.

The girl nodded haltingly at his question, wonder fleetingly brightening her face before she resumed her serious manner.

Now Maes made sure to phrase his words carefully. He couldn’t tell the truth of course (that was a one-way ticket to an asylum) but he was also loathe to say his wife was dead (even if it would tie up any loose ends in his story). The thought of Gracia or Elicia being dead – it just didn’t bear thinking. Not even for a well-intentioned lie. Luckily, he had a relatively foolproof solution. It wasn’t even that much of a lie.

“I came here from my home country.” Hughes began haltingly as he ladled some of the soup into a bowl, poured a drink and brought them to the young waif. “The move was very sudden and unexpected, and I was unable to stay with my family. So they’re still home and I’m – well, here.” The Amestrian carefully gestured to the room around them as he brought the food over to the girl. She tensed as he put the bowl and mug in front of her, so he retreated back behind the counter to put more space between them. He began washing the dishes to give himself something to do, leaving the pot of soup alone in case the girl wanted more.

Noticing she hadn’t touched her meal yet, he flicked his eyes to the bowl, then her before saying, “Well, go on, dig in! If you wait much longer all you’ll have is frozen soup with these temperatures.” Maes beamed another close-eyed grin as he vigorously scrubbed the few remaining dishes.

The blond-haired waif began to wring her hands in earnest before mumbling through gritted teeth. “I can’t pay.”

“I’m sorry, but what?” Maes asked in bewilderment.

“I can’t pay and you know that!” The girl sneered at him from her seat, body once again poised for flight. “You saw me. I was going through your garbage. You knew I couldn’t pay from the beginning.” She accused waspishly.

“Well, yes but – ” She didn’t let him finish.

“So you want something from me. That’s why the whole,” she furiously gestured to encompass Maes and the soup, “charade. So what do you want?” Rage burned in the girl’s eyes while her hand twitched spastically around what Maes was relatively certain was a knife of some sort. The Amestrian felt himself go cold at the girl’s insinuation. _She was so young_.

He took a deep breath to center himself as he considered how to react. This was his one chance to help this girl, establish a rapport. He couldn’t afford to fuck up.

Maes released his pent up breath in an explosive exhale and leaned his elbows onto the counter to address the suspicious girl. “Alright, you caught me. There is something I want from you.” He held up a hand to forestall her panic at his admission. “I wanted to see you off the street and out of the cold. I wanted to give you a real meal so you wouldn’t be left to sift through my garbage.” Here his face crumpled with guilt as he admitted, “I wanted to see you in here and imagine for a second it was my daughter sitting in front of me. Make no mistake, my motives aren’t pure. But they’re not as sinister as you seem to believe either.” He shrugged sheepishly, sad eyes trained on the waif’s face.

The girl’s face twisted with an unnamable emotion at his confession. “That’s it?” She questioned doubtfully.

Hughes could only throw back his head and laugh at her reaction. It was either that, or cry.

He supposed she took that as his answer, because the girl shortly began to devour her soup. Maes was also amused to note the girl’s shamelessness in immediately requesting another serving. ‘This one certainly knows how to work her audience.’ He thought with a happy grin as he obediently ladled her another bowl.

When she was done, the girl was quick to request any food he could afford to spare. Maes immediately caught on to what she wasn’t saying – that she wanted the food for when she left, but knew he couldn’t keep the girl against her will. As a compromise, he made sure to fill a satchel with as much bread as he could spare and grabbed his gloves. He plopped both of them on the table in front of the girl when he came back. The look on her face as she gingerly picked up the bread and his new gloves was well worth the financial sacrifice.

“Thank you. I – don’t know what else to say.” The girl said with grudging gratitude.

Maes shrugged unconcerned. “Then don’t say anything. Just, maybe pop by if you ever need something. Let me know you’re okay, if you need help. I’m a nosy guy, you know. And I worry.” The man grinned widely, but it didn’t reach his shadowed eyes.

The girl crinkled her nose as she stared at him in incomprehension. “You’re weird.” She said with childish bluntness. Maes just grinned wider. The girl’s expression firmed as she decisively nodded her head. “My name is Modesty, Mr. Hughes. It was nice to meet you.” The newly dubbed Modesty announced before scrambling out of her seat and then the door.

Maes watched her go, heart heavy with old and helpless grief.


End file.
